Thunderbirds, Kraken, and Other Dangers to Dragon Reproduction
By Amy Wethington
“Mori, look at my ankles!”
I glare from my couch across the living room of my townhouse apartment. My annoying neighbor, Benya, lays on her back in front of my TV, legs up. She resembles a cow. Or a manatee with legs. She’s been doing this every night for a week, and I’ve about had it.
“You’d never guess they were the ankles of a forty-year-old woman.”
I roll my eyes, bracing myself for the next.
“Why can’t I find my soul mate? My biological clock is running out. I have names picked out for the twelve children I intend to have.”
My dragon form itches to unfurl, fly around the living room, and belch a quick flame at her. Make her scatter for the door. If anyone deserved to worry over a biological clock running out it was me. According to Mom’s inner voice, I have maybe a year before my eggs run dry.
Mom. I miss her so much. She died when I was a youngling, but her voice follows me still. I was found in front of a church and raised as a human. But I remember how it was to live as a dragon. The thrill of catching a thermal’s exhilarating.
“What are the names?” I try to feign interest. I’m a good ten years younger than Benya so if I’m running out of time, Benya’s probably already doomed to be childless.
“Don’t want to jinx it by telling you.” Benya rolls over and sits, legs crossed. “What do I have to do, go to a bar and get knocked up?”
“What about the sperm bank?”
Benya’s face flushes. “They refused. Said something about concerns over how I filled out their questionnaire.”
“You mean the fact that you would refuse to baby-proof your apartment. Make them wear a dress without panties until they were potty trained. And expect them to be your best friends?”
Benya frowns. “What’s wrong with that?”
Plenty, but I keep the comment to myself. “Perhaps you’re better off. Raising kids is hard work. They always turn out differently than you expect.” At least according to Mom who is laughing uncontrollably inside my head.
Mom’s many stories run through my thoughts. How many times she or Dad nearly died taking care of their older clutches. And then caring for me and my siblings. How they lost one egg after another to predators. How I was the only baby in their last clutch of eggs to survive after Dad was taken by a kraken. How Mom managed to get me to safety before she succumbed to the wounds of a thunderbird attack.
My throat hurts as I relive my last memory of Mom. Watching government workers, dressed in brown, zip her up in a large plastic bag and take her away in a semi truck’s freezer. Not fair.
“Hmph…” Benya had her arms folded and that “don’t tell me what to do” expression on her face.
I glance at my watch. “I need to pack.” My human form pinches me. Plus, there are so many things I need to do before I leave tomorrow.
Benya’s eyes widen. “You aren’t going, are you?”
“How else am I supposed to study dragon mating and reproduction behaviors?”
“But dragons eat humans.”
“I’ll be careful.” Who says I’ll be in human form? Maybe one day I’ll let Benya know my secret true form. But for now, it’s best to keep it to myself. Don’t want to wind up in a jar of alcohol for someone else to study.
“But it’s so far and remote. No internet.”
“It’s only a year and I need the data for the last chapter of my dissertation.” And let my dragon form soar, catch some thermals, maybe find a mate.
“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”
“You’ll be fine. I need to get back at it.” All this baby talk is getting me thinking. After Benya says her goodbyes and promises to bring in my mail and such, I unfold into my dragon form, deep purple with lavender spots. The living space in my apartment boxes me in. One thing Benya’s right about. Time is running out for either of us to become mothers.
Mom’s voice urges me to find a dragon mate and lay a clutch of dragon eggs. Shorter gestation cycle. Faster baby growth. Less fuss compared to human infants who are pathetic all the way past five years old. No risk of giving birth. Just lay the eggs and guard them. When they hatch, make sure they get a steady diet of chewed-up fish chum. In a year, a dragonette can be completely on its own.
I point out the risks and the government edicts that restrict dragon reproduction and inside my head, I can hear her laughing. It’s all about finding the right place. I sigh.
I’m eager to see how protected these dragon mating reserves are. I roll my eyes. Is there a safe spot for dragons to mate, reproduce, and raise a clutch of eggs? I doubt it, but I must try.
I don’t want to be like Benya and answer to a life of regrets.
It’s my first day at my study site. I exult in my dragon form. Ice crystallizes on my scales. The altitude makes me dizzy, but I push on. I’m taking a risk in the name of science and passing my genes on. I’d either find a mate or reach the pass-out height and fall into peaceful oblivion. Oblivion is preferable to Mom’s nagging voice I hear in my head. Preferable to Benya’s nightly visits. Her laying on my floor. Forcing me to comment on her ankles.
Mom’s voice says there’s something fishy about these so-called dragon reproduction protective sites. Can they keep poachers away? Dragon eggs can be used for medicinal purposes and somehow pharmaceuticals are getting rich on them. The best way to get to the bottom of it is as a dragon.
I flap my wings with determination. Inside, my blood simmers like a cauldron. Outside, the cold air numbs my talons and makes my tail stiff. Blackness clouds my vision, and I begin to plummet.
Out of nowhere, my serpentine body gets tangled into another’s and he glides me into a restful thermal.
“Howdy. Name’s Alistair.” He speaks with a mellow and deep voice. “I saw your mating flight and thought I’d join you. That okay?”
“Of course.” My body tingles as he positions himself to give me a cloacal kiss. I’d never been kissed before. Too busy pursuing my academic studies. His kiss melts the ice off my scales. We glide on the glorious thermal for an eternal minute. Inside, Mom is cheering us on.
We pick out the best spot for me to lay our eggs. Mom approves. It’s on a cliff overlooking the rocky shore. Alistair assures me it’s remote and safe from poachers who would steal our reproductive effort. Plus, there are other dragon nests close by. Safety in numbers as Mom says.
The nest is built into a protected crevice with soft materials. Took us a week. I can’t believe how comfy and homey I am, tucked up under Alistair’s wing. I don’t miss my apartment or human bed at all.
The waves crest and crash below. The eggs slide out of my body and the shells harden as they fall one by one into the nest. The eggs come until there are four with brilliantly colored shells. Mom’s voice crows with maternal pride and wonder.
But then another egg follows, a disappointing white one a quarter the size of the others. Oh well, win some lose some. Mom’s voice advises me to toss it over the cliff so we can focus our energies on the more viable eggs. I tell her that’s harsh. She responds by saying it’s nature’s way. But the small white egg came out of me and I’m going to keep it. Mom’s voice retreats and I can picture her shaking her head.
We arrange the eggs and take turns sitting on them to keep them warm while the other one forages. I’m surprised at the depth of love I have for each egg, even the white one. My favorite is the gold one with bronze spots. This one will take after his dad for sure.
Every evening I slip into my human form for an hour to take notes for my dissertational study. Alistair shrugs, not sure what to make of my human form or my having a human career. The ability to shapeshift is rare and to shapeshift into a human is rarer still.
I’m fascinated by the dragon colony. The smells of fish in the air. Waves crash against the rocks on the shore below. Dragon behavioral displays as each couple pick out a nest and set up a routine for guarding their eggs.
Some of my fellow female dragons refuse to leave the eggs and give their mates a turn. I had no idea that such stupidity existed among dragons. I’m more than happy to stretch my wings and take my turn foraging. So far, the site seems safe from poachers.
It's my time to forage. I haven’t been in dragon form this long in forever it seems. I swoop down to a school of fish below and come up with a mouthful of tuna. I chew and swallow. Rise back up to catch a thermal and swoop again. According to Mom, it’s important to store up as much energy now as possible. Before the eggs hatch.
When I return, Alistair isn’t anywhere to be found. All my fellow dragon nests are abandoned. I panic and find two of our eggs are missing. A bronze one with ruby spots whom we had decided to call Brynn, and my favorite one whom we had decided to call Flynn. My heart seems too large for my chest as I rearrange the three remaining eggs and wait. I don’t have to wait long before Alistair returns.
“What happened?” I ask. I try not to sound judgmental or anything, but inside I’m a volcano of fury and hurt.
Alistair settles next to me. His frantic rotating eyes slow and he tucks me under a wing. I feel his heart pound in my ear, fast at first and then slow to a regular beat. His warm breath hits the back of my head as he speaks. “I had to chase away a fellow dragon. Hadn’t seen him before. And while I was doing that, government workers found the nest and took two of our eggs. They would have taken them all, but…”
“Government workers?” Not poachers? “How do you know?”
“They had on brown uniforms.”
Mom’s primal scream is full of anguish. I nuzzle closer and try to comfort him. I have no idea why a fellow dragon would attack nests when there are so many fish in the sea below, unless... “Do you think that dragon’s working for the government?”
“Maybe.”
“We should move our nest.”
He nods. “I’ll scout out some likely spots.”
While he’s gone, I write down my observations while I guard our eggs. So, protected nature reserves for dragon reproduction aren’t safe either. And it’s government workers who take the eggs, not poachers. Ice fills my veins. I tell Mom it must be a yearly setup. Encourage dragon couples to lay eggs then send in a foreign dragon or two. And while the interlopers are being chased, government workers slip in and steal the colony’s investment.
It took several days, but we relocated to an isolated cave three hundred miles to the south. The two larger eggs are close to hatching. I love watching them move inside their eggshell. The white one is still warm so it’s viable, just developmentally behind its larger siblings. I wonder which one will hatch first. The pink one with purple spots, Charlotte, or the purple one with lavender spots, Claire. Alistair should be back soon. Hope so. Gurgles and hisses emanate from my stomach.
Claire starts to peck at her shell, and her beak pokes through a rectangular hole. It has a red dot at the end. Then Charlotte begins to catch up. It’s a race! Over the course of an hour, their eggs develop increasingly larger holes until the two hatchlings emerge covered in a wet slime. I lick them and their feathers puff out of their wings and their triangular-shaped scales along their serpentine body glisten with fresh oil. Inhaling their sweet newborn scent fills my heart and rejuvenates me.
Alistair arrives with some chewed-up chum for them to consume. Their first meal. I stay just long enough to see them go at it. Their daddy’s grin widens with pride as he settles in the nest to make sure the white egg has sufficient heat.
I rise to go. Alistair catches my eye. “Be careful. There are kraken in the sea and thunderbirds in the sky.”
As I fly out of the cave, I hear Mom’s warning voice and shiver. And not with cold. Thunderbirds and kraken are known dragon killers.
I dive deep into the sea after a school of fish. My mouth opens to inhale as many as possible using my bottom teeth as a sieve. I catch an unblinking eye in my peripheral vision to my left and down. It’s a kraken ascending from the deep, tentacled arms stretched forward, beak clamping open and shut.
I swim up, working my arms and legs furiously, but it catches me in one of its tentacles. Pulls me towards its beak. I spit out the fish meant for my babies and wrestle free of its arm, snapping. Burning pain envelopes my body, but I’m free of the kraken’s jaws. I break through the water’s surface and rise to catch a thermal. Soaring above the ocean, I spot another promising school of fish. I dive and catch a good twenty of them and pull away from the surface before another kraken can clamp down on me.
The sky darkens and lightning shoots from a thunderbird with twice my wingspan. Holy crap-cakes! It’s targeting me. I beat my wings as fast as I can.
Guilt and hurt wrestle in my throat as I try to lose the thunderbird gaining on me to my right. I need to get the food back to my babies. I need to escape. I can’t let the thunderbird know where Alistair and our two daughters and the unhatched egg are. In the fury of the storm brought about by the thunderbird, Mom points out a tunnel in a ravine below and I head for it. I pray Mom’s right about it being large enough for me but too small for the thunderbird.
I make it into the tunnel a wing flap before the thunderbird who thankfully is too large. It screeches and emits a lightning bolt that stuns me. My kraken scars flare and I twist my serpentine body into a fetal position holding the fish chum in my cheeks. Singed scales along my tail make my eyes water.
I yearn for my research notebook, but it’s back at the cave. I distract myself from the burning pain, as best I can, by wondering what Benya has been up to. All her talk about babies and here I am, a mother fighting for her life. Should have stayed motherless and in my human form. Pick a safer dissertation topic. Why did I have to gather reproductive data as a dragon?
The storm passes. I cautiously emerge from the tunnel. No thunderbird in sight. Launching into the air, I flap my way back to Alistair and my hungry hatchlings. I’m covered in bruises and angry scars.
I regurgitate the food and present my beak to Charlotte and Claire who take turns pecking at it and being rewarded with chewed-up chum. How did my parents manage? Oh yeah, Dad died of a kraken attack and Mom barely got me to safety before succumbing to her thunderbird-induced wounds. This whole being a parent thing sucks.
I’m thinking my whole plan is stupid and I should just return to my apartment. But I can’t. Alistair and our three kids have enchained my heart. If it comes to it, I will fight to the death for any of them. Even for the runt egg.
Alistair wraps me in his body and licks my scars as I recount the events. His saliva has healing properties and I fall into a deep and contented sleep. I think of my notebook but tell myself the notes can wait until tomorrow. Mom agrees.
When I awake, Alistair is gone. Foraging no doubt. I shudder and hope he has better luck than I did. The white egg is starting to move inside its shell. Charlotte and Claire play tag. They are a quarter my size. I scold them after a close call with Claire almost falling off the cliff to the rocks below. The cave is too small for such activity. My kraken scars don’t burn as bad as yesterday and my bruises are less sore, but…
I grow more and more anxious as the day progresses. Adding notes to my research notebook occupies me for a while. But Alistair should have been back by now. I worry either a kraken or a thunderbird has got him. I think of Dad. And Mom left to raise the rest of her younglings. I swallow back a sob.
Claire and Charlotte are a broken record asking for food. The white egg’s movements have become more violent. I’m left wondering. When do I risk flying off to forage and look for Alistair? And leave our babies behind. Like Mom had to before she was attacked by that thunderbird.
The white egg moves around the nest, and I see a pale beak emerge from a hole. I panic. He will need food if he is to survive. Charlotte and Claire are looking at their brother’s egg with hungry eyes.
Albin, my albino son, emerges after two more forceful pecks. He’s soaking wet, and I lick him dry. Although a quarter the size of his sisters, he has twice the energy.
Mom concedes I was right to keep the runt egg if only to serve as food for his more viable siblings. I can’t let that happen. Can I? I regurgitate what is left in my stomach to stave off the girls’ hunger and provide my son with his first meal.
It's been two long days and no Alistair. I shake my head and hold back a sob. I think of my cushy apartment and my life as a graduate student. So easy to abandon the nest and go back. I have more than enough data for my last dissertation chapter. But I can’t. My babies are my everything. They are weak with hunger. My empty stomach gurgles and growls. I have no other choice but to follow Mom’s advice and forage on my own. I leave my babies with a list of dos and don’ts and hope for the best. They are too young to fly on their own. We need food. I vow not to be gone long.
I plunge out of the cave into the sea below. I grab one mouthful of fish and vault back into the sky before a kraken can come. On the shore, I see the dead carcass of a dragon. Alistair! Shorebirds swoop to pick at his lifeless body. My heart explodes in pain as if stabbed by a dagger.
I study the horizon. Blue sky, no clouds. I rush back to the cave. The cave is empty. My kids! Where are they? Quiet sobs come from behind a rock. It’s Albin. After I feed him, I try to guess what happened. Damn Government workers are my guess! No doubt both girls have been plunged into alcohol for further study.
“How did you escape their notice?”
Albin’s mouth breaks into a wide grin. He changes into a human baby and shows how he crawled into a hiding place. As a human, he’s an eighth the size of his dragon form. No wonder they didn’t see him.
I swell with pride. A dragon capable of shapeshifting into human form is rare. I gasp. Alistair must have been a carrier of the shapeshifter gene. I cradle Albin in my talons. “Come. It’s not safe here.” Albin gurgles and coos as the landscape unfolds below.
I’m thankful for the dense fog. As I draw near town, I swoop down and change to my human form carrying Albin in my arms. At least I haven’t been fatally wounded. Like Mom.
I fumble for the hide-a-key rock and use it to open the door. I close the door shut and lock it. I stare at my remaining child who has fallen asleep. I fashion a diaper out of an old tee shirt of mine and slip it on him. Then set him down to sleep in the bottom drawer of my dresser.
I see that Benya has been taking in my mail and watering my plants. I fire up my laptop and order much-needed baby items. I sigh. Being a single parent, even for a human with a single baby, is beyond impossible. I click on the next-day delivery option and check on Albin. He’s sleeping peacefully. I could watch him sleep for hours.
I unpack my notes. Plenty of time left to write my final dissertation chapter and find journals to send the resulting manuscripts.
Nine a.m. the next morning, the doorbell rings. I hope it’s an early delivery of baby items, but it’s Benya.
“You’re back,” she says. A broad grin spreads on her face when she catches sight of Albin. “What you got there?”
“I uh. You know those shows about not knowing you’re pregnant.”
“What a bunch of hogwash. No way a person wouldn’t know.”
“Yeah, well… It happened to me so…”
Benya shakes her head at me before focusing her whole attention on my son. “Well, aren’t you a scrawny thing?” She reaches out to Albin who clutches at one of her fingers. “Not much to look at, is she?”
“He. And there’s more to him than you think.”
“What’s his name?”
“Albin.”
“Who’s the father?”
I think about Alistair. His deep voice and his cloacal kiss. I think of his dead carcass on the shore mere wing flaps from our cave. A hurt lump develops in my throat. “His name was Alistair, and he was magnificent.”
“Was…”
“He died. Not long after this one…” I look down at Albin who smiles back, “emerged.”
“What about your dissertational study?”
I point at my desk. “I managed to take enough notes for several papers at least. And I’ve uncovered a dark secret about our government.”
“It’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair?” I think of my losses.
“Not only did you manage to be a mom, but you got the research done on top of it. What must I do? I hate bars and one-night stands, but…”
I stare at my neighbor. “You should get right on that.” But I hear Mom’s voice and I soften. “Why don’t you help me raise Albin?”
Benya breaks into a wide grin. “I’d love to. Can I call him Al?”
I nod.
Albin fusses for his breakfast. I sit on my couch beside Benya who’s in an armchair. I tell her about how the government uses dragon mating sanctuaries as a front to steal dragon eggs. Which they probably sell to pharmaceuticals for monetary gain.
Benya leans forward, her eyes wide, “Oh?”
I drink in Albin’s sweet baby scent as his suckling pinches my breast. My heart fills with such love that I vow to make the world safe for dragons. For me, Mom, and Albin. I draw in a deep breath and begin by telling Benya our secret. Mom cheers me on.
Amy R. Wethington is a retired biology professor and snail expert. She lives in the house she helped build as a teenager in Pauline, SC with her husband and four cats. She enjoys writing science fiction, speculative fiction, and fantasy and is a member of several writing groups: in person and online. Her short story “Baba Yaga and the Water of Life” is published in Haunted Words Press Issue Six: Ghoulish Grimoires, available here. She drew on her knowledge of bird behavior to craft her short story “Thunderbirds, Kraken, and Other Dangers to Dragon Reproduction”. She can be found at her website —https://www.amyrwethingtonwriterofspeculativeworlds.com/ — and is the Contest Coordinator and former President of the Southeastern Writers Association.
This is an excellently crafted story. The vivid descriptions of dragonhood are so realistic that I lost myself in the narrative. It was emotionally riviting, as well. Congratulations!
[I'm sure we're related: I grew up in Georgia and Florida, with ancestors in North Carolina. My doctorate is in Anthropology and I have published here and in other lit mags. rwetheri@smu.edu]
This story is amazing and brilliant. I loved it so much!!